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At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint BERNARD
Utter'd the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,

Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,

Excelsior!
There, in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay;
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star!
Excelsior!

HENRY LONGFELLOW.

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Even her Foes Wept.
OD of the thunder! from whose cloudy seat

The fiery winds of desolation flow :
Father of vengeance! that with purple feet,

Like a full wine-press treadst the world below; The embattled armies wait thy sign to slay, Nor springs the beast of havoc on his prey, Nor withering Famine walks his blasted way,

Till Thou the guilty land hast sealed for woe. God of the rainbow! at whose gracious sign

The billows of the proud their rage suppress ; Father of mercies ! at one word of thine

An Eden blooms in the waste wilderness !

And fountains sparkle in the arid sands,
And timbrels ring in maidens' glancing hands,
And marble cities crown the laughing lands,

And pillared temples rise Thy name to bless. O’er Judah’s land Thy thunders broke, O Lord !

The chariots rattled o'er her sunken gate, Her sons were wasted by the Assyrian sword,

E'en her foes wept to see her fallen state: And heaps her ivory palaces became, Her princes wore the captive's garb of shame, Her temple sank amid the smouldering flame,

For Thou didst ride the tempest-cloud of fate. O’er Judah’s land Thy rainbow, Lord, shall beam,

And the sad city lift her crownless head; And songs shall wake, and dancing footsteps

gleam, Where broods o'er fallen streets the silence of

the dead. The sun shall shine on Salem's gilded towers, On Carmel's side our maidens cull the flowers, To deck, at blushing eve, their bridal bowers,

And angel-feet the glittering Sion tread. Thy vengeance gave us to the stranger's hand, And Abraham's children were led forth for

slaves; With fettered steps we left our pleasant land,

Envying our fathers in their peaceful graves. The stranger's bread with bitter tears we steep, And when our weary eyes should sink to sleep, ’Neath the mute midnight we steal forth to weep,

Where the pale willows shade Euphrates' waves. The born in sorrow shall bring forth in joy;

Thy mercy, Lord, shall lead Thy children home; He that went forth a tender yearling boy,

Yet, ere he die, to Salem's streets shall come. And Canaan's vines for us their fruits shall bear, And Hermon's bees their honied stores prepare; And we shall kneel again in thankful prayer, Where, o'er the cherub-seated God, full blazed the irradiate dome.

HENRY HART MILMAN.

Father! Thou must Lead.
THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed,

If thou the Spirit give by which I pray:
My unassisted heart is barren clay,
That of its native self can nothing feed :
Of good and pious works Thou art the seed,

That quickens only where Thou sayest it may.

Unless Thou show to us thy own true way, No man can find it: Father! Thou must lead : Do Thou then breathe these thoughts into my

mind, By which such virtue may in me be bred, That in thy holy footsteps I may tread;

The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
That I

may
have the

power to sing of Thee! And sound thy praises everlastingly.

MICHEL ANGELO BUONAROTTI,

Trans. by WORDSWORTA.

Faith.
NOT seldom, clad in radiant vest,

Deceitfully goes forth the morn;
Not seldom, evening in the west

Sinks smilingly forsworn.
The smoothest seas will sometimes prove,

To the confiding bark, untrue;
And if she trust the stars above,

They can be treacherous too.
The umbrageous oak in pomp outspread,

Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,
Draws lightning down upon the head

It promised to defend.
But Thou art true, incarnate Lord !

Who didst vouchsafe for man to die;
Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word

No change can falsify!
I bent before thy gracious throne,

And asked for peace with suppliant knee;
And peace was given,-nor peace alone,
But faith, and hope, and ecstasy!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

Far from the World, O Lord, I Flee.
FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee,

From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still

His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,

With prayer and praise agree;
And seem by thy sweet bounty made

For those who follow Thee.
There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,

And grace her mean abode,
Oh! with what peace, and joy, and love,

She communes with her God.
There, like the nightingale, she pours

Her solitary lays ;
Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.
Author and Guardian of my life,

Sweet source of light divine,
And (all harmonious names in one,)

My Saviour, Thou art mine!
What thanks I owe Thee, and what love,

A boundless, endless store,
Shall echo through the realms above,
When time shall be no more.

WILLIAM COWPER.

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Faith, the Evidence of Things Unseen. LORD,

how couldst thou so much appease Thy wrath for sin, as, when man's sight was

dim And could see little, to regard his ease,

And bring by faith all things to him?

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